


Erebus marquesi

by starcunning



Series: Erebidae [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Blood Kink, Bondage, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, F/M, Magical Bondage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, technically kallie's not the MAIN wol but u kno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2020-08-23 04:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcunning/pseuds/starcunning
Summary: “That was unwise of you,” Nabriales told her, shifting his weight and testing her hold. She felt his flesh give way a moment later, the planes of crystal biting into her knees and palms. He rematerialized standing over her, lips curved in a smirk beneath the rim of his mask.She looked up at him, forcing herself to her feet. “I would say it accomplished my aims quite handily,” she told him, lifting a hand to swipe the back of her palm over her lips.“You cannot kill me,” the Ascian told her, his nasal voice smug and self-assured. “Not here.”“Nor can you kill me,” Kallie told him. She had to look up at him, her ears flicking in annoyance, stirring her dark hair.“I can,” Nabriales assured her.“Youwon’t,” Kallie revised.





	Erebus marquesi

**Author's Note:**

> More imports from tumblr. [This fic](https://starcunning.tumblr.com/post/178771699594/erebus-marquesi) went up there October 5, 2018, in response to certain asks:  

> 
> _Erebus marquesi_ is another name for Ascalapha odorata, the black witch moth.

The Chrysalis should have bothered her, perhaps; its distinctly Umbral cant did not leave Lensha best pleased. Nor Minfilia, though that might have been better ascribed to the spectral chains that bound her hands. But Kallie had ever skirted nearer the Void, inheritor to the lost arts of Mhach.

Darkness and fire and falling meteors, then, were not strange. The fight was not strange either, for all that Kallie had never faced an Ascian before. That had been Lensha’s to do—and done well enough to see Thancred restored to them, nary a scratch on the rogue nor the Warrior of Light.

Though—if Nabriales were to be believed—Lensha was not that anymore. Perhaps that explained Kallie’s presence in the aetherial rift with her. Or perhaps it had been the merest happenstance; Kallie had come to the solar at the sound of Minfilia’s cry of surprise and met with their invader. Lensha and Moenbryda had been a step behind.

Aether leaked from the Ascian’s form, like the shadows all Paragons lacked. One of Lensha’s conjured stones hit him in the chest and forced him to his knees, and that broke the Ascian’s concentration. Minfilia screamed as she fell, crumpling upon the dais of violet crystal.

Lensha moved to shield the Antecedent’s body with her own, gathering her into her arms and making good to retreat.  
“Tupsimati!” Minfilia called.  
Nabriales laughed, with what breath he had. Somehow it resounded all the same. He forced himself to stand, advancing on the pair.

Kallie was no warrior, but she flung herself after the Paragon in a burst of speed, knocking him to the ground as he leaned to retrieve the staff. She could feel its power as her fingers closed around the haft of the shattered wood, and threw it after her allies.  
“Go,” Kallie said. “Take it and go. Moenbryda—”

There was no need to finish the sentence, not when the only one left to hear her was the Ascian. Kallie closed her crimson eyes for a moment. Moenbryda would be fine, she assured herself. Lensha was an accomplished mage in her own right—albeit of her opposite number.

“That was unwise of you,” Nabriales told her, shifting his weight and testing her hold. She felt his flesh give way a moment later, the planes of crystal biting into her knees and palms. He rematerialized standing over her, lips curved in a smirk beneath the rim of his mask.  
She looked up at him, forcing herself to her feet. “I would say it accomplished my aims quite handily,” she told him, lifting a hand to swipe the back of her palm over her lips.  
“You cannot kill me,” the Ascian told her, his nasal voice smug and self-assured. “Not here.”  
“Nor can you kill me,” Kallie told him. She had to look up at him, her ears flicking in annoyance, stirring her dark hair.  
“I can,” Nabriales assured her.  
“You _won’t,_” Kallie revised.

He seized her by the throat with a suddenness that surprised her almost as much as the feeling of cool metal against the underside of her jaw. She did not give him the satisfaction of gasping, only fixed crimson eyes to crimson mask. Despite her outward composure, she could feel her pulse race; with his thumb pressed to her artery she was sure he could, too. His laughter all but confirmed that for her; she felt her upper lip curl to reveal her fangs.  
“The reek of Her taint still lingers on your companion,” Nabriales said, “though she be shorn of Her blessings. Not you, though.”  
“I only follow where Lensha leads,” Kallie said, lifting her chin to shake back her bangs. The scarlet highlights in her pageboy cut brushed at her brow. She could have stepped back and broken his grasp. She didn’t.  
“Do you even know what it is you fight for?” the Paragon wondered, the loftiness of his tone faltering for a moment; through the cracks in his arrogance, she could sense a genuine curiosity.

Kallie gave him no answer all the same. This seemed not to vex him; his fingers loosened about her neck. The backs of his claws brushed her cheek, their silvered surface cool and pale against the deep gray of her flesh.  
“Hydaelyn’s little fool,” he named her. “Would you agree, champion, that it was your compatriots who attacked me first?”  
Kallie thought about it, about the flash of silver as Moenbryda raised her axe. “Yes,” she conceded. Surely, though, there was some provocation there.  
“Not for the first time,” Nabriales told her. He brushed a clawtip through her hair, stirring the dark strands. Then he traced the shape of the marking upon her brow revealed there.

When he took his hand away, she felt the absence more keenly than expected. Not least because she needed his attention to remain with her. She thought of Lensha and Moenbryda; she thought of Minfilia and the staff. All would need to be made safe before he left this place. Before he returned.

Nabriales turned away from her, and she traced the violet details embossed into his robes with her gaze. They echoed the crystal formations atop the dais, marked him as servant to whatever entity they betokened.

“You and I have better manners than that,” Kallie said, her painted lips curving in a smile.  
He turned to look back at her, that grin returned beneath the unreadable leather of his mask. “I should hope so.” He stepped toward her once more, and she could feel the weight of his gaze. He reached down to cup her chin, lifting her face for his inspection. “Shadows enough for both of us, in you,” he said.  
She reached up to slip a hand into the gape of his hood, drawing him downward.

Kallie had expected something different when she kissed him. For his lips to be cool and dry, perhaps; something to betray him as somewhat other than a man. Instead he warmed to her readily, the tines of his clawed gauntlet raking through her hair, pulling them together. The fanged protrusions of his mask scraped against her cheek; she sighed and he growled as he pulled away.  
  
He straightened, shaking off her tenuous hold, but his hand remained curled in her hair, pulling her against his chest. Kallie leaned against his grasp to nuzzle at his gloved palm. He was not difficult to convince; assured as he was of his magnetism, she supposed it was not hard to buy her attraction.

Neither was it hard to sell it, she admitted to herself. There was truth there, even if her acting upon it came with its own motive. She lifted a hand to touch his cheek, but as her fingertip grazed the lip of his scarlet mask, he snatched her wrist, jerking her hand away. Kallie gasped then, and he let out another growl, seemingly frustrated by something.  
“I have been too long in this body,” Nabriales muttered, as though annoyed. Then he leaned down to kiss her, fierce as his lips plied hers apart. He felt her fangs then too, nipping at his skin in turn.  
“Please,” she whimpered, not really meaning to, the single word half-mangled against his mouth.

His laughter was no less arrogant at a lower volume, only more intimate, his smirk pressed against the column of her neck. His teeth—flesh and mask—raked over her throat, demonstrating in an instant how vulnerable she had made herself to him. “Had you something to ask of me, little fool?”  
“I need more,” Kallie told him, some part of her understanding this was no longer a game. It was in deadliest earnest, her painted lips parting to gasp as he ran a claw over the stays of her mage’s robe.

He released her, only for an instant, so that he could spin her about in his grasp. He lowered his mouth to her ear when he spoke again, leather brushing fur.  
“I shall not toy with you as does Lahabrea,” he cautioned. She could feel the sharp tugs as he unknotted the laces of her robes.  
“I don’t know him,” Kallie breathed.  
He scoffed, slipping clawed hands between black cloth and grey skin. “We should all be so fortunate.” He stripped the robe from her, yanking down the leggings beneath, and she felt a prickling against her skin at her wrists, her ankles, her waist.

Unseen forces jerked her from the floor, pulling her arms out in front of her so that she bent forward, legs apart. She yelped in surprise—she had forgotten, somehow, this was in his repertoire. His amusement was palpable. She felt cool metal stroke the inside of her thighs, hissing in her next breath over gritted teeth, and then he swiped a clawtip along her vulva, spreading her open. Steel—cold and unyielding—traced the delicate frill of her labia, and she tried to squirm against her aetherial bonds. She could feel her cunt prickle with sensation, fear heightening her senses.

When he plunged two fingers into her a moment later, Kallie almost screamed—but his hand was bare, somehow, skin warm against her. Instead he raked his fingers along her frontal wall and she bit back a moan. His thumb skimmed over her folds, and he pressed the flat of it against her clit, grinding the sensitive tissue against her pubic bone.  
“Nabriales,” she whimpered.  
He huffed once, not quite laughing. “Yes?” he purred. He leaned over her, and she could feel his back against her chest, the length of his erection laid against the curve of her ass. How had he undressed so quickly?

Not completely, she realized a moment later; he curled an arm about her waist and she felt the curve of one claw press against her breast, teasing her nipple with the tip of that single tine. His other hand was bare, grasping her by the hip.  
“I need,” Kallie groaned.  
His smile pressed against the nape of her neck. She could feel his teeth, clamping down around her flesh, harsh in contrast to the softness of his lips, outlining the heat and wet and pressure of his mouth. He flicked his tongue over the bite a moment later. “Yes?” he prompted her again.  
“I need you to fuck me,” Kallie panted.

He lifted his hand from her hip, his body drawn back from her own the merest fraction so that he could press the head of his prick against her hungry cunt. Nabriales grasped her by the shoulder, bracing himself as he entered her with a single stroke.

Ready as she thought she was, needy as she found herself, it still knocked the breath from her. She writhed against her bonds, but all she could manage to do was to grind herself against his body, feeling him stretch her. His hand slipped from between them to wrap around her body, his fingers parting her folds. Nabriales’s clawed hand seized upon her breast, kneading the flesh.

He was not still for long, using his grasp on her body to pull himself in against her so that every thrust seemed to resound in the crystal cavern, withdrawing almost to the tip so that he could spear into her anew. The blunted head of his cock raked her frontal wall. She could feel his chest against her back, the hardness of his body in his taut arms. He could reach her neck easily, and did, biting relentlessly at the sensitive flesh. His mask brushed against her damp skin, though she could not turn her head enough to see.

There would be marks; she knew that, could practically feel the burst of blood vessels each time his teeth clamped down upon her, sucking hard at her flesh, the torment of his bites contrasted only with the lave of his tongue over her skin afterward. He bit the curve of her shoulder, seizing upon her body like a beast might a marrow bone. His teeth worried at her flesh as he fucked her, every thrust jostling them against one another. She felt the sharp sting of pain and whimpered; Nabriales only growled in response.

Every thrust seemed as relentless as the first, spreading her around him; in the crystal chamber she could hear the slap of his flesh against her own as well as the lewd sounds of her own wetness, though her moans often drowned out all else. Kallie was not sure which would ache more the next day, her hungry cunt or the dozen love bites he seemed intent upon giving her.

She repented of neither, nor of the way he crushed her breast back against her chest, the blade of his thumb skimming over her breastbone. The shard of black glass that hung pendant around her neck rattled against his claws.

Kallie whimpered, feeling herself grasp at the Ascian’s shaft from within. He lifted his head from her shoulder for only a moment, and his hand from her chest long enough to gesture once. Her knees slapped together, pressing her cunt still tighter around him, his bare fingers still buried in her folds so that every thrust rubbed her clit against his fingertips.

She could feel his breath rush over her damp skin, his tongue still lapping at that last little wound. Kallie smelled iron in the air, but she did not think on it overlong, listening to the way he panted in time with his relentless pace. She whimpered the Paragon’s name; she couldn’t help it. Then she came, feeling the pleasure prick her from toes to scalp, squeezing at his cock even as he continued to pound her. Kallie arched, tugging against her bonds to press back against him, riding her climax as long as she could.

Then, in midair, she sagged, sweat rolling down the slope of her nose to drip onto the crystal below, onto the discarded black pool of her clothing. Nabriales withdrew a moment later. She could not feel the touch of his hands any longer, nor so much as the warmth of his body.

He released her bonds and she fell—a foot at most, but her knees gave out and she tumbled to the floor a moment later. He stood over her, his robes obscuring his body once more from her sight, and she sat up enough to tug her leggings back up.

“Nabriales,” she murmured once more. He stooped down to kiss her; she could taste blood on his lips. It must have been her own. Kallie wrapped an arm around herself, feeling at her shoulder, at the sticky, clotting wound.

He watched her as she dressed, drawing taut the laces once more and knotting them in hasty bows. She looked at the Ascian.  
“What happens now?” the mage wondered.  
“You return to your pack of meddlers, I assume,” Nabriales murmured. There was something closed in his expression—or perhaps it was the mask, for when he turned his face away even the merest fraction, she could not see her eyes through its multitudinous slits.  
“Will you return to the Rising Stones?” she asked.  
“Not now,” he said. “I do not doubt but that your friends would be too happy to ambush me. But I may return. Whensoever I wish. Again and again and again.”  
“I’ll be ready for you,” Kallie told him. It didn’t sound half so much like a threat.  
“Mayhap you will, little fool,” he said, and it made him smile. Then: “What is your name, champion of Hydaelyn?”  
“Kallie,” she said.  
He stood there, looking at her, as though waiting for something.  
“Kallisti.”  
His gloved hand stirred her hair once more, from the crown down along her cheek, bladed tines skimming over the slope of her jaw. “A fitting name for one such as you, Kallisti,” he said. “Go, then, and if you are _not_ waiting for me, I shall be very disappointed in you.”  
“Well, we can’t have that.”


End file.
